“Lupe?”
“Yes; we don’t want him. The general won’t want him to join.”
“No–o,” said Marcus, thoughtfully, as he stooped to pat the dog’s head, a favour which Lupe responded to by leaning himself as hard as he could against his young master’s legs. “I should like to have him with us, Serge.”
“So should I, boy, if it comes to that. He’d have been splendid with us, and saved us scouting when those rough uns were hanging round. Why, if I had had him with me when those six came on they would have been no worse than three, and I shouldn’t have wanted you.”
“Yes,” said Marcus, thoughtfully, “I should like to keep him with us, but I’m afraid we shall have to send him away.”
“Send him away!” cried Serge. “You may try to send, but he won’t go. We can’t take him with us,” continued the man, drily, “and it looks to me as if we shall have to make an end of him and hang him on the nearest tree.”
“What!” cried Marcus with a look of horror. “You wouldn’t be such a brute?”
“No,” said Serge, slowly, “I suppose I wouldn’t; but what are we to do? The first captain that we speak to when we get to the army and ask him to let us join his lot will shake his head at us if we bring a dog.”
“Yes, I suppose so,” said Marcus, thoughtfully.
“But look here, we wouldn’t bring him. We didn’t bring him. He came. The country’s free for all, and if he chooses to follow us we are not to blame.”